Fatherly Affection
by Lear's Daughter
Summary: AU story: what if Kara hadn't passed Zak, and he had died anyways? What if Adama didn't know that they had been engaged? How would they both be changed? My take starting premini and continuing from there. LeeKara friendship, KaraAdama friendship only
1. Chapter 1

Note: My first BSG fanfic. Be gentle!

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Battlestar Galactica.

* * *

Commander William Adama sat in the dark and wished that his son were still alive. He had been doing that a lot in the past few months, of course, but this was one of the more poignant instances in which he felt the pang of Zak's loss. Visiting Zak's flight school, sitting in a chair his son had probably sat in a hundred times, seemed to bring the grief closer, sharper than it could ever come when he was in the distant, vast emptiness of space.

Adama was taking an enforced leave of absence, insisted upon by his close friend and alcoholic second-in-command, Saul Tigh. Though the other man understood full well the pain that came from being off of his ship, the agony of feeling solid earth beneath his feet, he also knew the importance of retaining some ties to a planet, and had practically ordered his superior officer off the battlestar and on a vacation.

Adama could have gone anywhere for his leave. There was only one place he had considered. Here, the flight training school on Picon, here was where Zak had spent so many hours struggling to fill his old man's footsteps. Here, his youngest son had grown and learned and ultimately failed. Here, his son was told that his dream of being a pilot would never come true, and here was where the event had occurred which had ultimately led to his death.

It was late, very late, and he was alone in the rec room. Alone with his thoughts, with the television, and with a stack of forgotten papers. He smoked a cigar as he sat, the clean smoke purifying his lungs for several long seconds and then leaving them filled with an ache he couldn't describe when he breathed out again. He let his gaze drift from the blank television screen to the pile of papers, and then he froze.

"Zak Adama," the top sheet read. The name was written painstakingly by someone with terrible handwriting. It was a basic flight exam evaluation. With shaking hands Adama grasped the sheaf of papers and held them up to his face, wishing for the first time in several hours that there was more light in the room. The evaluation was carefully marked, indicating the places Zak had frakked up, the places he had done well. His written exam had been stellar; his flight had been wretched, especially for an Adama. He sighed heavily, barely noticing as a single tear tracked down his cheek, and let the paper slip from his hand. A word on the next page caught his half-lidded eyes, and he sat up straighter when he saw that the next page, too, was marked, "Zak Adama."

It was the same evaluation sheet, marked by the same hand, and the analysis was the same. But it wasn't a copy—someone had carefully written it out again. He flipped the page to look at the next. Zak Adama. Flip. Zak Adama. Flip.

_Zakadamazakadamazakadamazakadamazakadama._

He tore his eyes from his son's name and instead sought the name of the instructor. Her name was scrawled almost illegibly at the bottom of the first sheet—not on any of the others—and he had to squint hard to make it out. Kara Thrace.

He had heard the name before. Kara "Starbuck" Thrace. Rumored to be one of the best pilots seen in the Twelve Colonies since before anyone could remember. Zak had glowed about her instruction in his few letters home, and even Lee had mentioned her as a friend in the one phone call they had had in the five years before Zak's death. The best pilots on his ship, the Battlestar Galactica, had all been trained by her, and the CAG had reported to him that many of the pilots liked to groan good-naturedly about the infamous Starbuck and her tyrannical ways.

The door opened softly behind him, and he swiveled in his chair to see who was interrupting his reminiscing. The first thing he saw was her back, and that the intruder was a woman was strange enough in and of itself in a military mostly comprised of men. She was facing the door, closing it quietly. She wore the usual downtime two tank top ensemble of military officers. It was too dark to tell the color of her hair, which was cut short. She turned around, saw him, and couldn't quite contain her gasp of surprise.

He was surprised as well. He had seen her once before, he remembered, although most of his memories of that day were so wrapped up in grief and helpless anger that it was agony to unpack them again. She had been in attendance at Zak's funeral, a mourner who stood near the back of the crowd and watched as his son's body was lowered into his grave, her face expressing the same emotions that he felt inside. She was not beautiful, not exactly, but her face was attractive and enticing. Then, she had looked upset, weak. Now, as he watched her in the dim light of the rec room, she looked tired but strong. She had lost weight since the funeral; so had he.

"Sir," she said, spine stiffening as she came to attention.

"At ease," he ordered softly. Her posture relaxed minutely.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said. "I didn't think anyone else would be here. I just came here to pick up some…work…I forgot earlier." Her eyes shifted to the sheaf of papers he had dropped onto the side table and then back to his face.

He smiled gently. "Lieutenant Kara Thrace, right?" he asked, feeling a sense of kinship with this tortured soul who had obviously spent hours reviewing the tapes of his son's exam, desperately seeking evidence that Zak should have passed, should have become a pilot instead of dying in a freak accident as a deck hand on a battlestar.

She nodded. "Yes, sir." He nodded in return, then picked up the papers and held them out to her. She strode toward him, hand outstretched, and took them from his grasp. "Thank you, sir," she said evenly, tucking the papers under her arm. She was going to pretend that he hadn't seen the papers, then, and to hope that he would do the same. She saluted him again, then spun on her heel and headed for the door.

"Lieutenant Thrace," he said, stopping her before she could quite finish making her escape.

Her spine stiffened and she turned slowly to face him again. "Sir?" He admired her poise.

"Will you be flying in the tournament tomorrow?" The tournament was held every three years, a competition in which viper pilots showed off their skills and fought to earn the title of top gun. He thought he remembered hearing that Starbuck had won three years ago, when she had just been starting out as a training instructor. He thought he remembered hearing that she had won three years before that, when she was still a nugget herself and crazy enough to enter herself into a competition meant for experienced pilots.

"No, sir," she said, looking anywhere but into his understanding eyes. A smile ghosted over her lips and disappeared again so quickly he might have just imagined it. "There's not enough competition, anyways."

He felt his own lips twitch in a smile. He had heard this about her, too, that she was as brash and arrogant as a young viper pilot ought to be, and maybe a little more. "Then why not show up just to beat everyone?" he suggested. He hadn't been planning to attend the tournament, but maybe that was just the change of pace he needed. Maybe it was just the change of pace she needed, too. She looked uncomfortable at the suggestion. "I know it isn't my place to say it, but I would very much like to see just what Zak's stellar instructor can do with a viper, Starbuck."

Her eyes lit at the sound of her call sign and he knew he had said the right thing. She bit her lip. "Since you asked, sir," she said reluctantly.

He smiled gently. "Then I'll see you tomorrow," he said. She bobbed her head again, and this time when she went to leave he didn't stop her.

His son, Lee "Apollo" Adama, made it to the fifth out of seven rounds before Starbuck blew him out of the sky in a fancy maneuver almost too quick for the eye to follow. The man in the sixth round barely gave her a challenge, and she demolished her opponent in the final round with a kind of ruthless efficiency that made the audience wince.

Adama Sr. made his way to her landing pad with a bounce to his step that had been missing since his son's funeral. He might not have been much of a father, might have only been commander of a junk of bolts just waiting to be decommissioned, but if he was good at one thing, it was flying, and he could recognize an amazing pilot when he saw one. Kara was everything Zak had boasted, and more, and he thanked the gods that he had gotten her to agree to fly today.

He had hoped to be one of the first there to congratulate her for her victory, and was a little disappointed to see a well-built young man talking to Kara. They were standing so that Adama could see her face and the man's back. The two were talking animatedly, and at one point she reached forward to push the man, a playful smile on her face. Adama could tell that the competition had been good for her, forcing her to loosen up. She glanced past the man and saw him and appeared suddenly shy, pushing a strand of her short hair behind her ear. She muttered something to the man, and he turned to face the newcomer as well.

Adama was struck, yet again, by a realization of just how poor a father he could be. "Lee?" he said tentatively, wanting nothing more than to take his son into his arms, knowing that his touch would be unwanted.

Lee's expression had been light, friendly when he turned around, but now it was shuttered. "Sir," he said coldly. He deliberately turned his back on his father. "Congratulations again, Kara," he said.

Her smiled was forced as she looked back at him. "Thanks, Lee. I guess I'll see you around."

"Yeah. I guess."

His only living son detoured around him in his haste to escape from the suddenly-cramped landing platform, leaving Adama and Kara there together. Adama stared after the young man, feeling a twisting in his chest as he thought of how terribly everything in their lives had gone wrong all at once.

"I'm sorry." Kara's voice drew him back to the present. A blush was working its way up her neck, and he could tell that she was uncomfortable about trying to make a connection, as bad at dealing with emotions as he was. "Lee doesn't really mean it—he just feels like he needs someone to blame."

"He's always been that way," Adama murmured. "But he does mean it. He thinks that it was my pressuring Zak to join the fleet that led to his death." He started when she laid her hand on his arm, staring at the offending appendage—so much smaller and more graceful than one would expect after meeting her—and then at her sympathetic face.

"It wasn't anybody's fault," she said firmly. Never mind that he had found good evidence yesterday that she blamed herself. "Zak did what he wanted to do. Joining the fleet was all he could think of. He died in a freak accident. It wasn't your fault."

Rather than respond to her words, Adama changed the subject. "I meant to congratulate you when I came here, but I haven't done so yet, have I? That was some impressive flying, lieutenant."

She shrugged. "It's what I do best."

They seemed to realize at the same time that her hand was still on his arm, and she pulled away at the same time to drop it when he grabbed it, holding it up so he could better see the ring on her thumb.

"You're engaged?" he asked, surprised. She was the kind of woman most men would be too intimidated to bind themselves to forever, and he found himself admiring the man who had had the balls to ask her to settle down.

"I was," she replied shortly, pulling her hand back with just enough force to be impatient rather than insubordinate. "It didn't work out."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "That's life."

He would have said more, but then the crowd reached the landing platform and he yielded to their en masse congratulations.

Three hours later, two requests were submitted simultaneously from opposite sides of the planet. One, from the luxury hotel Athens, which was set aside for commanding officers of the fleet, was a request that one Lieutenant Thrace be transferred to the Battlestar Galactica, immediately to join the viper crew. The other, from a dingy flat on the flight school campus, requested permission for on Kara Thrace to transfer from flight school instructor to viper pilot on the Battlestar Galactica.

Three days later, Starbuck landed on the Galactica to be greeted personally by Commander Adama, and for the next two years things were almost good.


	2. Chapter 2

Note: This fic is mostly going to follow straight along with the episodes of the show, skipping some here and there and pulling away before Kara starts getting really irritating, except, obviously, it'll be AU. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Battlestar Galactica.

* * *

Kara "Starbuck" Thrace breathed lightly as she ran through Galactica's halls, forcing her way through groups of visitors and listening to the reassuring pounding of her own footsteps. The end was almost upon them. Galactica was being decommissioned, the old girl laid to rest at last. Even though she had known the event was near when she had transferred to Galactica originally, she had somehow imagined that the years until the actual decommissioning would stretch on indefinitely and she could stay in this home forever.

She ran around a tour group, grimacing as the obsequious speaker in front rambled on about Galactica's history and what an amazing monument it would make as a museum, and how could they ever turn this wonderful place into a tourist exhibit?

Galactica was her home now, home in a way that only one other place had ever been—flight school when she had been the teacher and Zak her student. He had made that place home for her, made her feel safe, loved, warm, in a way that she had never experienced before. But then he had failed basic flight and become determined to prove himself in other ways and she had begun to lose him even before he died. She had been so lost after Zak's death, floundering, unable to cope. Then the Old Man had shown up and taken her under her wing and under his guidance she had found a new home.

She rounded another corner, and there was the object of her thoughts. She felt her face pull into a natural smile, the expression still unfamiliar after these few years, and sped up to fall in beside the man she had come to love as a father.

* * *

Commander Adama strode quickly through the halls of his battlestar, examining the cue cards for his decommissioning speech as he went.

Amazing, to think that they were decommissioning this old bucket of bolts. She had been his to command for several years now, and he had grown quite fond of the Galactica—enough so that it tore at his heart to think of letting her go.

Quick footsteps sounded behind him, and he felt his lips curl into a genuine smile at the sound, knowing that there was only one person it could be.

"Good morning, Sir," she said as she pulled up beside him, barely out of breath from the exercise.

"Good morning, Starbuck," he returned. "What do you hear?"

Her grin widened. "Nothing but the rain."

"Grab your gun and bring in the cat."

"Boom, boom, boom," she said, and then she was gone.

It was an interesting little ritual from which he derived great comfort every morning. The exchange was one that had been very common in the old days, back when he himself had been a viper pilot, but it had fallen out of common usage years ago and faded out of memory today. He didn't know what had inspired him to use the line—"What do you hear?"—with Starbuck that first time he ran into her in the hall, only a day or so after she was assigned to Galactica, but somehow he had known that she would know the correct response, perhaps from reading or conversations with older pilots or somewhere else entirely. He didn't pretend to know where she got her knowledge from, and much of it was eclectic and stunning with its range.

In many ways, Kara Thrace had become the daughter he never had. She was intelligent, athletic, beautiful, stubborn to a fault, and with one hell of a temper. She lashed out at people regardless of rank, usually with just provocation, but she usually kept her control when it was needed most. She'd never earned herself a court-martial, at least. He had been careful never to show favoritism for her—although their connection of him being Zak's father and she his training instructor was hardly conducive for a strong relationship—but it was clear to everyone that she was by far the best pilot on the battlestar, and that gave her a certain status on the ship and meant that she usually got the most lenient punishment for her various infractions.

He was planning to promote her to captain after the decommissioning ceremony in preparation for sending her off to be deputy CAG aboard the Pegasus. She had earned the position, proving to him many times over that she had real leadership potential as well as an ability to think outside the box that he shouldn't have found so surprising. It helped that she had toned down her behavior a bit since leaving her last position, causing him to wonder whether she had just needed a new kind of responsibility to reform her or whether something else had happened. He had never asked her about her engagement after that first time, but he wondered now whether that might have had something to do with it.

Shaking his head to clear it from his thoughts, he turned his attention back to his cue cards.

* * *

Colonel Saul Tigh took a long sip of his glass of ambrosia, savoring its warmth on his tongue as he returned to the Triad table. His eyes scanned over the pilots in the room, the young officers in various states of relaxation, and landed at last on Starbuck. She smirked cockily at him as she held her cards up, and then her lip curled in disgust as she caught sight of the glass in his hand. He fought the desire to hide the glass behind his back, and instead held it up as a kind of toast.

Starbuck was a bit of a favorite on this battlestar, revered by nearly all for her skill in a viper and only slightly less well known for her biting tongue and fierce nature. The Old Man was inordinately fond of her, although he had never allowed that fondness of her to get in the way of his duty. Even Tigh himself respected her, although that respect was hidden beneath the mutual contempt they liked to advertise—her disdain for his drunken behavior, his intolerance of her rowdiness and arrogance. He secretly delighted in the thought of how shocked she would be when she saw that he had signed off on the promotion she was due to receive the next day.

"In or out, Colonel?" she demanded brazenly, leaning back and putting her feet up on the table.

Acutely aware of the regard of the other soldiers, Tigh glanced at his own cards, at the pile of cubits on the table, and then tossed the remainder of his own pile in the center. "I'm in."

She raised an eyebrow, and his stomach fell as he realized he'd just made a mistake. "Full colors," she boasted, laying out the cards on the table for a moment before triumphantly sweeping the winnings towards her.

The room seemed to collectively hold its breath, and Tigh knew they were waiting for him to blow up. He'd imbibed more than was appropriate for an officer already, and it wouldn't be an atypical reaction for him to accuse her of cheating or something equally unbecoming of an officer. Fortunately, he was in a good mood at the thought of seeing his wife after the decommissioning the next day, and accepted her gloating win with nothing more than a wry twist of his lips.

"I'm out," he said roughly, grabbing his drink as he stood from the table and stalked away.

"Good night, sir," her laughing voice followed him from the room.

* * *

Captain Lee "Apollo" Adama landed his viper a little more roughly than strictly necessary, feeling his anger bubbling away under his skin. It had been a long time since he had seen his father, but not long enough. His anger at the old man was as fresh in him now as it had been two years ago. His frustration at the general situation—by the gods, they actually wanted, no demanded, that he fly for the decommissioning ceremony—was not helped by the fact that the old bucket of bolts required that he land manually. It must have been nearly twenty years behind, technology-wise.

The top of his viper lifted off, and he prepared himself to berate whatever deck crewman was unfortunate to be there to greet him, but instead he found himself face-to-face with someone he hadn't seen in a long time.

"Kara?" he said, grinning at her as his anger abruptly melted away.

"Captain," she said sarcastically, slapping of a sloppy, mocking salute.

He chuckled as he levered himself out of the cockpit and down the ladder, coming to stand a few feet from her. "It's good to see you again," he said, feeling self-conscious.

She quirked a smile, one that was sassy and ballsy and pure Kara. "It's been a long time," she said. "Two years, right? Not since the tournament where, if I'm remembering correctly, I kicked your ass."

"I'm sorry I haven't tried to contact you," he said, feeling almost strained by how easy it was to fall back into his old rapport with her. "It's just…"

"It's just that I transferred to the Old Man's battlestar, and you didn't want to have to deal with him," she finished, ending her sentence with a growl. "Gods, Lee, when are you going to drop this grudge? It's not your father's fault that Zak died."

"He was my brother!" Lee hissed, clenching his fists in anger at her words. How dare she!

"And he was nothing to me?" she snarled back, and he was immediately chastened. She and Zak had been close, he knew. Very close. It was just so easy to rail at her, to unleash on her the anger he felt at everyone else because he knew that she could never be broken by his words—bent, perhaps, but never broken.

"I'm sorry, Kara—" he tried, but she cut him off.

"Just go away, Lee," she said, sounding tired. "I'm getting the urge to strike a superior asshole."

If it were anyone else, anyone other than his hotheaded best friend who might have one day become his sister, he would have insisted that she hear him else. But she wasn't anyone else, and to try to pressure her in any way would be suicidal. He went.

* * *

The decommissioning ceremony went without a hitch, with Apollo flying point and Starbuck as his wingman in the flyby. Their tension from before was lost as they both surrendered to their joy of flying, even going so far as to pull a few tricks that were definitely not in the original plan for the day. Adama watched nostalgically from his position of honor at Galactica's helm, reflecting that other than Saul Tigh his entire family was flying for him at that very moment.

After the flight he gave his speech—one which varied drastically from the one he had intended to give—and then saw the visitors off, including his son, who was escorting the Secretary of Education back to Caprica. When he turned from his stiff farewell to Lee, he found Kara standing behind him, looking awkward, and he couldn't help but remember back to the last time Kara had seen the two of them interact.

"I'm sorry about Lee," she offered. "He shouldn't blame you for what happened."

This was another subject they never talked about. Zak. There were so many questions Adama had thought about asking her, little details about Zak's life that she could impart, but it was too painful even to raise the subject, especially with someone who would have known him as distantly as his flight instructor.

"I'm not so sure about that," Adama replied. "Lee's right; I did tell them that they wouldn't be men until they got their wings. I pushed them both too hard, and Zak died because of it."

"Listen," she said, suddenly as fierce as she could possibly be, "Zak didn't die because you pushed him. He died because he refused to be a bystander, because he accepted the fact that he would never be a pilot and picked another profession. That's all. He died because he didn't cut it as a viper pilot."

"Now who's blaming herself?" Adama asked gently. This was perhaps not the optimal place to have this conversation, standing on the flight deck with deckhands bustling about around them, but he couldn't think of a place either of them would be more at home.

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I can't help but think—if I'd worked with him more, pushed him harder…he wasn't that far off from passing…"

"He busted three maneuvers, Starbuck," Adama reminded her. "No responsible flight instructor could have passed him after that performance. You'd just have been putting both him and the other pilots in danger."

"Yeah," she said, her voice unconvinced. He placed a hand on her shoulder momentarily, offering the only kind of comfort he knew how. She straightened at his touch, tilting her head up to look him straight in the eyes. "It's been an honor serving with you, sir," she said sincerely.

"The honor's been mine," he said, then paused. "Captain." Her eyes grew wide, and she gaped at him as she tried to register what he had just said. He smiled proudly, pulling the captain's pins out of his pocket where he had been fingering them. "I had planned to give these to you later today," he told her, "but now just seems like a perfect moment."

"Commander…" she trailed off as she stared at the pins. "I don't know what to say. Wait, yes I do: you want to make me a captain? Are you insane?"

He chuckled. "You've earned it, Starbuck," he said. "Since getting here, you've been nearly an exemplary officer—" "_Nearly_" she coughed "—and proven yourself to be reliable in a pinch and an able leader. Coming to the Galactica wasn't a career-making move for you, we both know that, but you've gotten experience here and I'm not sending you off to Pegasus as anything less than a captain." He reached forward to attach the pins to her collar, taking advantage of her shock. At her continuing disbelieving expression, he raised an eyebrow. "If you don't believe me, wait till you get the promotion sheet. Colonel Tigh signed off on the recommendation." When it looked like she was going to dissolve into sputtering again, he held out his hand for the traditional handshake. "Congratulations, Captain."

"Thank you, sir," she said, her voice choked as they shook. She paused, and he thought she might just walk away, and then she flung her arms around him in a quick, tight hug—not exactly the epitome of exemplary military behavior.

He was stiff for a moment, unused to such contact, but soon relaxed, hugging her back. What did it matter, anyways? With Galactica's decommissioning it was time for him to retire; surely he could be allowed this little leeway. "I expect you to come visit me when you have planet leave," he told her roughly. "I want to be kept up-to-date on what's happening with my star pilot."

"Yes, sir," she said, her voice watery. She released him from her tight grip, looked him in the face for a long moment, then spun on her heel and hurried away.

Adama saw movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see Chief Tyrol watching Kara's retreat. The Chief met his eye and smiled. "I'm going to miss the people around here," Tyrol said.

"Me too, Chief," Adama said sadly. "Me too."


	3. Chapter 3

Note: Please review! Reviews are what inspire me to write.

* * *

When the Cylons attacked the Twelve Colonies, most of humanity—the mere thousands that survived the first wave, that is—fell to pieces. Gaius Baltar, for one, lost his mind almost completely. Stella Thrace, a former marine who had retired to her home in Picon after she had been dishonorably discharged, was another. She survived the first wave, one of only a few hundred survivors on that planet, but by the time the second wave hit she had convinced herself that this was the gods' punishment for raising her brat of a daughter, and she stood in the middle of an open field, a blissful smile on her face as she waited for her death. It came soon enough in a whirlwind of fire and radiation and smoke.

Laura Roslin, Secretary of Education and 43rd in line for the throne, strongly considered breaking down and crying like a baby. She had just learned that she was dying of cancer, though, and somehow the end of the world didn't seem like such bad news as she would have expected.

There were only a few people who held it together as their world collapsed around them. One was Admiral Helena Cain, commander of the Battlestar Pegasus. She directed her crew and pilots coolly as they fought back and ultimately jumped away, and vowed that one day she would kill every last cylon, or die trying. Another was Tom Zarek, a convicted terrorist who listened to the cries of despair of the guards around him on his prison ship and smiled as he envisioned the ways that this new situation could help him.

And then there were the people aboard the Battlestar Galactica, people who were surprised by the cylon attacked—surprised, but not really _surprised_. One was Kara Thrace, who woke instantly at the sound of sirens and was in the hangar directing Chief Tyrol to get the museum vipers in the air almost before everyone else had registered what the sound even meant. Another was Saul Tigh, who despite knowing that the cylons had really come once again to terrorize humanity couldn't help but insist that it must be a joke that the fleet was playing on Adama, an attempt at a humorous farewell. The last, of course, was William Adama, who stood in the center of CIC and barked orders with such competent efficiency that the communications officers didn't even have time to act surprised.

Yet no matter how ready any of them were, there was no one among the survivors who truly thought that things would ever be alright again. Even after Kara was named the new CAG of Galactica, even after the fleet jumped to Ragnar Anchorage and reassembled, even after they wept to hear that Lee Adama had died and then rejoiced to hear that he had lived, none of them could help but think that the human race was doomed.

* * *

The alarm sounded. Starbuck opened her eyes, sitting up in her bunk and letting out a growl as she did so. "Frak," she muttered, hurrying out the door with the other pilots as they all made their way to the hangar. The alarm had ceased to be the sound alerting them that the cylons were attacking; for the past two days it had been a warning that the cylons would be attacking in three minutes. They had been hounded every 33 minutes since escaping from Ragnar Anchorage, and her pilots were being run ragged. She was the only one who refused to take stim pills to boost her performance, and she showed it as she lagged behind the others as they sprinted through the halls. She was still ten times better in a viper than the rest of them could ever hope to be, though. 

She leapt into her viper and moments later zoomed into space, even the thrill she usually got from flight more than a little muted by her fatigue.

"Starbuck, Galactica," Dee's voice rang in her ear, a little tinny from the distortion over the radio. "Dradis reports twenty contacts."

"Roger that, Galactica," Starbuck replied. "Alright, vipers, listen up—stay in formation and watch out for your wingman. Keep an eye on your targets, and don't let the frakkers sneak up on you. I don't want to lose anyone today."

"Roger, Starbuck," a series of voices chorused. And like that, the vipers swooped into battle, as graceful as any birds of prey as they took on the cylon raiders. Starbuck pulled into an arc, facing off against two cylons, trusting that Apollo was watching her back. She took out the first cylon effortlessly; the second took a few more seconds before it, too, was toast.

"Starbuck, Galactica, we're ready to go. Bring in your pilots."

"You got it, Galactica," Starbuck said triumphantly, leading the charge back to the battlestar. CIC waited just until the ships had all landed before the FTL drives activated and the battlestar, as well as the fleet around it, winked out of existence.

Kara climbed out of her cockpit, too tired even to grin as she and Lee shared nods of appreciation. She stretched once her feet touched the ground, grimacing a little at her own smell. Flying in a viper was hard work, and having to do it constantly for days without even time for a real shower or laundry wreaked havoc on a pilot's BO.

She was just pondering what she would do in the next thirty minutes—another nap, or maybe a quick bite to eat—when a voice announced from a nearby speaker, "Captain Thrace, report to the Commander's office."

She barely contained a groan. So much for rest. She exchanged a wry glance with Lee before trotting in the direction of CIC, each step feeling as though she were on a high-gravity planet rather than a low-gravity battlestar.

She knocked cursorily on the door to Adama's office, then pushed her way in. Courtesy be damned, considering how tired she was. "Sir," she began tiredly, then blinked when she saw that Adama was not alone. Also in the office were President Roslin and Colonel Tigh, all of them looking almost as fatigued as she felt. "Sirs," she amended, closing the door behind her.

"Sit down before you fall down, Captain," Adama said, waving her into one of the chairs in front of his desk. She mustered a smile for him as she complied, but he didn't return it.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"We lost the _Olympic Carrier_," Roslin replied softly.

Silence filled the room.

"We _what_?" Kara demanded, glancing from face to face. "How the frak could that have happened?" She regretted her words the instant she spoke. She knew how hard all of them had been working to keep the fleet in one piece, but some losses were inevitable. Still, to lose a ship…

"Dr. Baltar has suggested that the cylons have been tracking us using a civilian ship," Roslin told her. "We think the _Olympic Carrier_ is it."

"That's crazy," Kara said. "And so what if it's true? There must be a thousand people on that ship!"

"1,345," Adama corrected. "There's nothing we can do about it right now, but we wanted you to be informed, Captain. If the _Olympic Carrier_ does return, we might have some hard decisions to make."

Kara stared at him dully. There were a lot of things she wanted to say, harsh things that she would undoubtedly regret later. She restrained herself. "Yes, sir."

Adama sighed. "Get some rest, Captain."

She stood. "Yes, sir," she said again. "Sirs," she nodded at Roslin and Tigh. She left the room stiffly, spine straight. Time for a snack. It was either that, or hit someone and end up in the brig.

The cylons did not come 33 minutes after they had last jumped. The fleet waited tensely to see what this new trickery was, perhaps more alert and on edge now than it had been when they knew the cylons were coming. At last, Adama ordered the fleet to stand down but required that it stay ready to jump, just in case.

The minute Adama ordered the stand down, every pilot except the emergency launchers and the CAP stumbled to their barracks and collapsed on their beds. Kara was one of the pilots who insisted on flying CAP; another was Lee. It was nearly five hours after the last jump that the _Olympic Carrier_ jumped into the near vicinity.

"_Olympic Carrier_, this is Starbuck," Starbuck said, hoping there was someone onboard she could communicate with. "Please respond." There was silence on the air waves, and her skin crawled with the feeling that something wasn't right. "_Olympic Carrier_, respond," she ordered.

"Starbuck, Galactica Actual," Adama's voice rang in her ear. "We're going to block their communications while we try to decide what to do."

"Understood, Galactica," Starbuck affirmed. "Apollo, stay on its tail," she told him.

"Why?" Apollo asked. "Where are you—" He didn't have time to finish his question before she accelerated past, pulling up alongside the starliner as she peered in its windows.

"I don't see anything…" she said.

"Starbuck, get back here," Apollo said, frustrated. "What are you doing?"

"I don't—no, wait. What's that?" she asked. "There's something moving in there."

"A cylon?"

"No—it's a kid," she said, her voice clearly conveying her surprise. "It's a kid, Lee." She smiled at the young boy, hoping that she didn't look too frightening. The child, barely more than a toddler, stared back, wide-eyed, before a larger person's arm came around its mid-section and snatched it back from the window.

"Let me tell Galactica," Lee said, a warning note in his voice. "Starbuck, don't _do_ anything."

"Starbuck, you've got incoming!" Dee's voice interrupted them. It had been 33 minutes since the _Olympic Carrier_ had appeared, and they all knew what that meant.

"Frak!" she shouted, slamming her hand against the wall of her cockpit.

"Emergency vipers away," Dee announced.

Starbuck glanced back at the window of the _Olympic Carrier_, hoping for another glimpse of the child, but she was disappointed.

"This is Galactica Actual," Adama said again. "Starbuck, take out the _Carrier_."

Starbuck clenched her fists. "Sir?"

"Take it out, Starbuck."

She didn't hesitate. "Negative, Actual. There are colonials on board."

"We have to, Starbuck," he said, sounding strained and frustrated. "Do it."

"_Negative_, Actual," she repeated. "I have an idea. Jump the fleet away, but send me the coordinates first. I'll stay with the _Carrier_. We can't just kill them, sir."

"Negative, Starbuck," Adama replied. She suspected that right then he was cursing himself for ever making her CAG. "That would be suicide!"

She knew he could hear the smile in her voice when she said, "Suicide for anyone else, sir, but not for me. I can do it. Please."

She knew by the fact that he gave in that he was as uncomfortable with taking out the _Carrier_ as she had been. "Very well, Starbuck," he said, voice heavy. "Do your best to take back the _Carrier_. Remember that if you can't there's no way your viper can jump to us. You have to use the _Carrier's _FTL drive."

"I know, sir," she said. "Don't worry about me."

He paused. "Good hunting, Starbuck."

"Same to you sir," she said, then switched to an open frequency. "All vipers, land on Galactica! Emergency landings; it's going to jump!"

"Are you crazy, Kara?" Lee demanded, flying up to fly next to her as the other vipers retreated. "You're not seriously staying with the _Carrier_?"

"I have to, Lee," she said. "Hurry up, you're going to have to go in pretty hot to reach Galactica in time."

"You think I'd leave you here?" he asked. "You'd get yourself killed!"

"Well, you can't stay," she pointed out.

"Watch me."

The fleet winked out of sight.

She sighed. "Lee, you idiot. I didn't want to be responsible for another Adama's death."

"Who's planning on dying?" he asked, flying in formation with her. "You do have a plan, don't you?"

"Sure."

"What is it?"

"Just follow my lead," she told him, angling her viper so that she was flying towards the landing bay on the _Carrier_. "This is Starbuck," she announced on an open frequency. "Requesting permission to land."

"This is your plan?" he asked incredulously.

"This is part of my plan," she said, watching as the hatch to the landing bay opened for them.

"What's the other part?" he inquired nervously.

"Get out of our cockpits, fast, before they blast the hell out of us," she said. "And have your sidearm handy."

"Right," he muttered.

As she had expected, the instant they landed a group of centurions poured into the hangar, and she and Lee leapt out of their cockpits for cover as they cylons opened fire. "_This_ is your plan?!" Lee shouted as they took shots from behind their metal barricades, carefully taking down cylons one by one.

"Is it working?" she shouted back, knocking out another cylon as she did so.

To Lee's obvious surprise, it was. When the shots ceased and the smoke cleared, it was to show both viper pilots still standing and a pile of unmoving metal soldiers lying on the floor in front of them.

"That was too easy," Lee said.

"Don't complain," she shot back.

They moved stealthily down the hall, weapons at the ready. They passed a series of open doors as they went, all of them leading to empty rooms. Finally, after they had walked for several minutes trough a warren of corridors, a closed door appeared on their left. Kara signaled that they would open it on her signal, and the two of them held their guns ready as she counted down with her left hand. When she reached "one," they kicked the door in. And immediately recoiled.

"What the--?" Lee began.

At the same time, Kara whispered, "Oh my gods…"

They stared inside the room. It was filled with bodies. Bodies upon bodies. Men, women, a few children, all with bloodstained clothes and open eyes. Kara heard retching and turned around in time to see Lee vomit all over the hallway. She swallowed twice herself, refusing to give up her lunch right now. Not now, when more lives—including their own—were at stake.

"Lee," she said, "Lee, we have to go. We have to look for survivors." She closed the door, blocking the grisly sight from view.

The next door in the hall was also closed. As was the one after that. And the one after that. Already knowing what they would find, they opened each just to make sure there were no survivors hidden there.

"There…there must not be any survivors," Lee said, sounding ill. "This has to be everyone, doesn't it?"

"I saw a kid, Lee," Kara said firmly. "He was alive. If there's one, there's more."

In the end, they stumbled on the survivors by chance. They stumbled around a corner at the same moment the survivors were coming their way, and—bam. Fortunately no one got off a shot before they realized that they were all humans. The group of survivors was comprised entirely of children, ranging from toddlers to early teenagers. Among them was the young boy Kara had seen from her viper. The children huddled close together at the sight of the two pilots, watching them with huge, fearful eyes.

"We're not here to hurt you," Lee said urgently. "I'm Lee, and this is Kara. We're here to help."

The children stared back at him.

"Lee," Kara said, "we need to get these kids somewhere safe, and then we need to figure out how this ship is being tracked, kill all the cylons, and jump to Galactica's position before it jumps again. We don't have time for niceties."

"We can't just leave them here, Kara," he replied.

She hesitated. "You're right. We can't."

She glanced at him significantly until he understood what she was trying to say. "Oh, no," he said, stepping back and holding up his hands. "No, Kara. We came here together, and we're going to see this through together."

"I'm a better shot than you, in or out of a cockpit," she pointed out. "And I'm crap with children, we both know that. Besides that, I outrank you. Listen, take the children back to one of the empty rooms near the hangar. Guard it as long as you can. If I don't come back—if we don't jump—don't let the cylons take any of you alive."

He swallowed visibly, then nodded. "OK," he said roughly. "Here, take this." He handed her his gun. "You're going to need it more than I will. And Kara—take care of yourself."

"Good hunting," she corrected, adjusting her grip on the weapon in her left hand.

"Right. Good hunting."

"I'll see you soon," she said. "Stay safe."

He looked as though he was going to say something else, so she darted down the hall. She had always hated long goodbyes.

The corridors seemed a little longer and a little darker without Lee by her side. She moved with caution, knowing that if she frakked up it wasn't just her life on the line. She heard a sound in the corridor ahead of her and flattened herself against the wall, breathing shallowly as she held her guns ready. She blinked in surprise to see that the thing approaching was not a cylon, but a human. Shifting the guns carefully in her hands, she stepped out in front of him.

He blinked as he came to a halt in front of her. He was older than her, with the beginnings of a scruffy beard. "Thank the gods," he whispered at the sight of her, his eyes wide with shock. "I thought everyone else was dead!"

"I'm from Galactica," she told him, then hesitated as she weighed what to tell him. "I'm alone. I'm going to try to take out the cylons and jump the ship to Galactica's position."

"Let me help," he said urgently. "Please. Those—things—killed everyone I knew on this ship. If you're going to fight them, let me help."

She paused, considering. "Okay," she said, handing him her sidearm and keeping Lee's. "I'm Starbuck, by the way."

He nodded, a grateful smile on his face that made her a little uneasy. "You don't know how glad I am to meet you, Starbuck. I'm Leoben."

"Stay behind me," she instructed. "I'm working my way through the corridors one by one. Eventually we should end up at the helm, and that's when things are going to get very interesting."

They moved painstakingly through the ship for what seemed like hours, but didn't encounter any more cylons. Fortunately, Leoben understood the need for silence and didn't say anything, although she felt his eyes on the back of her head all the while. At last, they stood outside the door to the helm.

She breathed deeply. "Okay," she said. "On my count, I'll kick in the door. We're going to go in guns blazing and take out as many of the frakkers as we can. Don't let your guard down even for a second, or you're dead."

"Gotcha, Starbuck," he said, moving into place behind her.

"One," she whispered, feeling him move forward a little, "two…" She felt a cold muzzle press against the side of her head.

"Three," he said.

She turned slowly to face him, mindful of the gun being held on her. Her face was expressionless. "So you're a traitor," she said.

He laughed. "You can't be a traitor to a group you were never a part of," he said. "I'm a cylon. The new and improved human model."

"Gods," she whispered. "You're the one the cylons were tracking."

"Yes," he said simply. There was a light in his eyes she couldn't identify. "Now, Starbuck, I really don't want to hurt you, so don't try to fight me. It's not your destiny."

She laughed; she couldn't help it. "My _destiny_?" she repeated. "Destiny has nothing to do with what's about to happen, Leoben. If you knew anything about my destiny, you'd know that I never go down without a fight."

She swung her famous right hook at him, and he took it, not crumpling to the floor as a human would but rocking from the blow nevertheless. As he reeled, he lowered the hand holding the gun, pointing it at her leg and pulling the trigger.

_Click_.

He stared at the weapon in shock, and Starbuck took advantage of his distraction to hit him again. This time he went down, and she cracked her own gun down against his temple for good measure. She stared contemptuously down at his body. "How stupid did he think I was?" she muttered to herself, shaking her head.

She knelt to grab the gun from his hand, pulling the cartridge from her pocket and sliding it into place. Armed with guns in both hands, she breathed deeply, facing the door. "Of course, this would have been a lot easier with two people," she said to herself. She reconsidered. "Then again, Starbuck with two weapons versus two people with two weapons; it might be a close call. Okay, enough of this. You're going to go in there. You're going to kick cylon ass. You're not going to be responsible for the Old Man losing another son."

She didn't give herself any more time to hesitate. She kicked the door open, opening fire with both weapons as she did so. The cylons inside—enough to make her job difficult, not enough to make it impossible—reacted quickly, firing back as she dove behind a large piece of machinery. What followed was an old-fashioned shoot out of brains versus brawns. Fortunately for Starbuck, when both sides were using guns brains could be more helpful. There were a few close calls—moments when she felt bullets graze her arms or face—but ultimately she emerged virtually unscathed.

She blinked as she stared down at the pile of broken cylons. "That was fun," she said to no one. "Must do it again sometime." Then she turned to figure out how to activate the speaker system.

* * *

Commander William Adama did not pace in the CIC. He was too controlled to do so, even when he was waiting to hear whether his son and the woman he considered a daughter had survived a suicide mission. He felt the eyes of his officers on him and knew that they were not fooled. They knew how much these two particular pilots must mean to him. 

The entire CIC seemed poised, waiting for news one way or the other. They knew that there was only so long they could stay in one place before they would have to move lest the cylons find them—but they would give Starbuck and Apollo as much time as they could.

Dee gasped. "Sir! Dradis contact shows one vessel approaching…it's the _Carrier_, sir!"

"Launch the alert fighters," he ordered. "If it does _anything_ threatening, take it out."

"Yes, sir," Dee said. She paused, and every eye in the CIC was on her as she sifted through radio chatter. "I'm getting something here…" She pushed the button to allow the transmission to come over the speakers.

"Galactica, this is Starbuck," a very familiar voice proclaimed. "Please don't shoot us down."

Adama couldn't keep the grin off of his face as he snatched up his handset. "Starbuck, Galactica Actual. Whaddya hear?"

He held his breath. Her response would tell him whether she was being coerced, and, more, whether Lee was with her and alright. A bead of sweat formed on his brow and he wiped it off impatiently.

He could hear the smile in her voice. "Nothin' but the rain, sir."

A cheer went up in the CIC that could be heard throughout the battlestar.


	4. Chapter 4

Note: Please review! Reviews are what inspire me to write.

* * *

Commander Adama smiled as he walked through the corridors of the Galactica, the familiarity of the path allowing him to think of other things. Life since the destruction of the Colonies had been stressful, of course, but also peculiarly reinvigorating. Before the cylons attacked he had been at the end of his career; now he found himself the commander of the only remaining battlestar, protecting a fleet of 50,000 people. 

He thanked the gods everyday that he did not have to go through all of this alone. He had his best friend, Colonel Tigh, a strong right-hand man even if he could never be trusted to command a battlestar himself. He had the new president, Laura Roslin, who seemed to disagree with him at every turn and yet who balanced out his naturally militant nature. He had the entire crew of the Galactica, from the intelligence officers in the CIC to the pilots to the deck crew—all of them loyal and competent and as stubbornly devoted to protecting the fleet as he.

And then he had his family, family that he had never thought he would recover. His relationship with Lee was still rocky, uncomfortable for them both, and he knew that it might never become what it might have been if he had been a better man, but at least they were talking now. Lee's appointment as Roslin's military advisor gave them an excuse to have semi-frequent meetings, usually with Kara in tow in her position as CAG. Kara—the other member of his family he had never expected to find, especially not this late in life. After her stunt with the _Olympic Carrier_, where he had worried as much for his daughter as his son, he had realized that despite her utter lack of relation to the Adama family she had wormed her way into his heart as surely as if she shared their blood. That stunt had turned out to be even more valuable than Kara had probably hoped; not only had they rescued the twenty or so children on board, but they had uncovered the journal of a notable Caprican scholar which warned, among other things, that Gaius Baltar was not to be trusted and was in fact the one who had betrayed humanity to the cylons. And none of it would have been possible if not for Adama's children.

Speaking of Lee and Kara…the sound of infectious laughter drew him faster down the corridor, and he turned into an open door to find the two viper pilots snickering like five year olds as they painted a large "1000" on Flat Top's helmet, a traditional part of the commemoration of a pilot's 1000th landing. They looked up as he entered, and surprise or distraction caused Lee to drop the paint can, spilling the stuff all over the floor.

Lee and Kara stared at each other and then at the Old Man, speechless, before Kara burst out laughing, pointing at Lee, who, with all the wide-eyed innocence of youth, pointed back at her.

Adama shook his head, and tried not to smile.

Several minutes later saw the room relatively clean and the three conspirators hurrying through the corridors to the hangar. Kara began relating to Lee the story of Adama's thousandth landing—and where did she hear about these things, anyways?—while Adama protested and hedged, and it was just as they rounded a corner and the hangar came into view, the viper pilots all circling around Flat Top, that something exploded.

* * *

Twelve viper pilots had died, another seven were in the infirmary. It was a disaster of unprecedented proportions, and left the fleet—and, by extension, the human race—in great peril. 

Fortunately, it just so happened that the Galactica had its own certified pilot instructor onboard. True, she was irascible, impatient, and ten times too good to be herding nuggets around in the few vipers they had left—but she was also a skilled teacher, experienced in teaching both theory and practice, and, most importantly for Adama, under his chain of command.

"Sir," she said hesitantly, sounding very unlike herself as she stood at ease before the desk in his office, "I don't think this is such a good idea. I don't know if I'm the right person for this. There's almost 50,000 people out there. Are you trying to tell me that there's not one flight instructor?"

"There's two, civilians both. I need someone to teach combat tactics. Captain Thrace, I have complete faith in your abilities," Adama replied firmly. "By all reports, you were a hell of a flight instructor. Zak used to rave about you." At the sound of his other son's name, she stiffened, refusing to meet his eyes. "Is that what this is about? Kara, you know I don't blame you at all for Zak's death. He couldn't cut it as a viper pilot; that wasn't a reflection on you as an instructor."

"Yes, sir," she sighed. She paused, and when she spoke again her voice was all Kara. "But do I _have_ to babysit the nuggets, sir?"

"I'm afraid so, Captain," he said, a hint of humor in his voice. "You can have Lee do the paperwork and find suitable nuggets, but you're going to be the one teaching them. I have faith in you, Kara."

"Let's hope it's not misplaced," she muttered as she sketched a salute and headed for the door. He watched as the closer she got to the door the more there was a bounce in her step, and he thought that she might not have been as upset with the idea of teaching as she thought.

* * *

Kara stared skeptically at the new batch of recruits, trying not to wince as she took in their young faces and eager expressions. They seemed impossibly naïve, and nothing about them suggested to her that they would have even a whit of ability in a viper. One of them had even washed out of flight school before, for crying out loud! 

"Get on your feet, nuggets!" she barked. "Pilots call me Starbuck, you may refer to me as God. Now frankly, none of you should be here in the first place, and due to the situations we don't have a simulator—which means that when you get your first experience, it'll be in a real viper. Before I'll actually allow any of you in a viper, though, you're going to have to prove to me that you know what you're doing. So take out your pencils, nuggets—it's time for a pop quiz!"

* * *

"Sir, I'm worried." Lee Adama did not—quite—scuff his boots across the floor like an errant schoolboy. "It's been nearly a week, and Captain Thrace still hasn't allowed the new nuggets to even climb into the cockpit." 

"_You're_ worried that _Starbuck_ is being too cautious?" Adama asked, a hint of incredulity in his voice.

"She's not teaching them to fly," Lee said stubbornly. "One of the things that makes her so good is her instinct, her feel for flying. How are her nuggets supposed to learn any of that from her if she refuses to let them up into the air?"

"Lee, Starbuck is an experienced flight instructor," the older man pointed out. "I have every faith in her abilities."

"Alright," Lee said grudgingly. "I just feel like she's letting personal feelings cloud her judgment."

"And what are those feelings?"

"About Zak, and about everything she lost when he died."

Adama's eyes narrowed. "What did Kara lose when Zak died?"

Lee blinked once, suddenly seeming to realize that he had let something slip. "I thought—I knew you were close—"

"Lee, answer the question," Adama ordered.

Lee shook his head. "It's not my place," he muttered. "If you want to know, you'll have to ask Kara."

Adama watched him go, a thoughtful expression on his face as he picked up his phone and asked someone to summon Captain Thrace to his office.

* * *

Kara hurried past a few off-duty crew members as she made her way to the Old Man's office, wondering why he had called for her. As far as she knew nothing strange had been going on, other than the experienced pilots being forced to work overtime to make up for the lack of pilots flying CAP. She had been thoroughly drilling the nuggets in theory, and she knew that soon they would be ready to try the real thing—perhaps they were even ready now, but she wouldn't let them in the air until she was sure that they could manage to make it back alive. 

She knocked on Adama's door, waiting until she heard his muffled response to push it open. He had been sitting behind his desk, but rose to his feet upon seeing her entrance.

"You asked to see me, sir?"

"Close the door, Kara," he said sternly. Brow wrinkled in confusion, she obeyed, then came to stand before him. "I was just talking to Lee," he told her, "and he said something that has had me wondering. He mentioned how much you lost when Zak died. What did you lose when Zak died?"

She paled, her hand immediately clenching over the engagement ring settled snugly on her thumb. Damn Lee, anyways—she had never thought that he would go spilling her business to the Old Man. "I don't know, sir," she said through numb lips. "You'd have to ask him."

"I'm asking you," Adama replied, his eyes seeming to pierce her. "Don't fence with me, Kara. I don't deserve that."

There was a loud pounding sound in her ears, and she realized it was her own heartbeat. "Zak and I…we were close," she whispered.

"How close?" he prompted.

"We…were engaged. We were going to announce it after he graduated from flight school, but after he failed basic flight, he was so determined to prove himself, to me and to you…"

"You were engaged." It was obvious that Adama was floored, but she didn't look up at him, too ashamed of the tears in her eyes, too ashamed of her lies. "And you never thought to mention this to me?" There was an undercurrent of anger in his voice, a sound that made her shudder. He had never directed his anger at her before.

"When we met—it didn't seem important," Kara said, forcing the words out past what felt like a blockage in her throat. "I didn't want you to think I was asking for anything. I thought you might not believe me."

"Not believe you?"

She felt his shocked gaze like a knife, and shrugged uncomfortably. "Zak was…everything. Perfect. And I've never been the kind of girl that guys bring home to their parents. Why would you believe me?"

"And after you had been here for a year, two years? Why didn't you tell me then, Kara?" he asked, pressing the point. When she still didn't look at him, he reached forward to grasp her chin in his hand, forcing her eyes up to meet his.

"I don't know," she whispered, the normally strong woman suddenly reduced to this heart breaking fragility. "I guess…I didn't want to lose you. You were so kind to me, so friendly, without ever asking anything other than that I be who I was."

"And you thought I would stop being kind, friendly, if I learned that you had been engaged to my son?" His disbelief was evident.

"I didn't want your kindness to come from some feeling of obligation," she said desperately, looking down. "I haven't been close to many people in my life, sir, and I would never have wanted you to feel that you had to be close to me, just because we had both loved Zak."

She dared to glance up, to examine his face, and found that for the first time it was closed off to her.

"I'm going to need some time to come to terms with this," Adama said gruffly. "Continue with the nuggets as you think best, Captain. You're dismissed."

Barely catching the sob that wanted to escape her, she nodded jerkily, then spun on her heel and hurried away. He hadn't rejected her, not yet, but now he knew that she had been persistently lying to him, and she feared that he would never look at her the same way again. She didn't know if she could live with Adama's hatred.

* * *

"Alright nuggets," she shouted, bursting into their locker room, her face clear from all of the emotion that had torn at her only minutes before—that continued to tear at her—"suit up! You're going out there in vipers, and you're going to prove to me that you have what it takes, or I'm going to bust you out of this little training program faster than you can say 'frakking hell.'"

An hour later, they were in the air, and Starbuck led them through a series of maneuvers designed to familiarize them with the temperamental vipers. Despite what she had said in the past, there was some potential there, although not as much as she'd hoped for. She was just about to tell them to try a few maneuvers when she saw something that made her heart stop.

"Holy frak—we've got incoming," she said, alerting not only the nuggets but the Galactica as well. "We're going to need you to send the cavalry. Nuggets, punch it for home," she ordered.

"The alert fighters will be there in two minutes, Starbuck," Dee's voice responded, her regret obvious. They all knew that the skirmish would be over in two minutes.

Nodding to herself, Starbuck made a decision that required no real thought at all. The two men who meant the world to her, as well as all of her friends in the world, were on the Galactica, which was in imminent danger of destruction. There was only one possible thing she could do. She forced her viper into an immediate about-face, zooming back in the direction she had come, prepared to take on all eight vipers herself.

Distantly, she heard Adama's voice over the radio. "Starbuck, are you crazy? This is suicide! Get back and wait for the alert fighters! Starbuck!" There were also other exclamations—apparently Hot Dog, one of the new nuggets, had tried to come to her aid. Having never been in a viper before, however, his skills were somewhat lacking, and he had ended up stranding himself. She knew he would be alright, if the cylons didn't destroy them all in the next minute.

Could Adama sound so concerned for someone he didn't care about any more? She didn't think so, so it was with a glad smile that she faced the eight cylons. Even as she blasted them out of the air one by one in a deadly dance, even as she twisted and turned to evade her opponents, even as she managed to shoot the same raider that knocked out a good portion of her viper, sending it plummeting toward the nearest landmass, toward certain death, she was reassured by the knowledge that there was no better way for her to die, than defending the people she loved.


End file.
